Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

Thanks to Duke Wethring and Lord Nevus, almost every noble between there and Ilear was either with him, dead, or under edict of execution. He would deal with the latter as soon as he’d taken care of Tobin and seized Atyion.

Tobin . Korin’s hands tightened on the reins. It was past time to be finished with him, once and for all.

Korin was too honorable in his own mind to recognize the jealousy that lay behind his anger—a bitter, corrosive undercurrent fed by the memory of his own failures, thrown into stark contrast by his little cousin’s natural valor. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to think of that. He’d put those days behind him, as errors of his youth. He would not falter this time.

They left the isthmus and struck north and east toward Colath. The rains came, but spirits remained high among the ranks, and the Companions, as well. In a few days they would be in sight of Atyion, within striking distance of all the fine resources there—horses and granaries, and the wealth of the treasuries. He’d had little more than promises to hold his lords; now they had great spoils nearly at hand. He would raze Atyion and use her great wealth to rebuild Ero in greater glory.

That afternoon, however, one of his advance scouts came riding back at a gallop on a lathered horse, with another rider close behind.

“Boraeus, isn’t it?” Korin said, recognizing him as one of Niryn’s chief spies.

“Majesty, I bring you word of Prince Tobin. He’s on the march!”

“How many with him?”

“Five thousand, perhaps? I’m not sure. But he isn’t coming along the coast. He’s sending another force to meet you, under the command of Lord Tharin—”

“Tharin?” Porion murmured, frowning.

Alben chuckled. “So Tobin sends his nursemaid after us. He must have learned to wipe his own nose at last.”

“Tharin served in your father’s Companions, Majesty,” Porion reminded him, shooting Alben a warning glance. “He was Duke Rhius’ bravest captain. It won’t do to underestimate him.”

“It’s only a feint, Majesty,” the spy explained. “The prince is taking a secret route through the mountains, to outflank you from the west.”

“We’ll see about that,” Korin growled.

He called a halt and summoned his other generals, then made the messenger repeat his news before them.

“That’s excellent news! We’ll overwhelm that paltry advance force like a storm tide and take the city in your name, Majesty!” Nevus exclaimed, eager to avenge his father’s death.

Looking around, Korin read the same hungry, vengeful gleam in every eye. They were already counting the spoils.

Korin went very still inside as he listened to all their arguments, and his mind grew ever clearer. “Lord Nevus, you will take five companies of cavalry and meet the eastern force. Catch them between Duke Morus’ forces and crush them. Bring me Lord Tharin or his head.”

“Majesty?”

“Atyion is nothing.” Korin drew the Sword of Ghërilain and held it up. “There can only be one ruler of Skala, and that is the one who holds this sword! Pass the order; we march west to crush Prince Tobin and his army.”

“You’re dividing your force?” Porion asked quietly. “You may be dooming Morus’ ships. There’s no way to get word to them now.”

Korin shrugged. “He’ll have to fend for himself. When Tobin falls, Atyion will fall. That is my will and those are your orders. Send out scouting parties at once, north and south. I don’t want them taking Cirna under our very nose. The consort must be protected at all costs. We’ll be the ones to surprise the prince, my lords, and when we do, we will crush him and put an end to his pretense once and for all!”

The generals bowed deeply to him and rode off to pass on his orders.

“That was well done, Majesty,” Moriel said, offering him his wineskin. “Lord Niryn would be proud to see you now.”

Korin turned and brought the tip of his blade under Moriel’s chin. The Toad went a shade paler and froze, staring at him with frightened eyes. The wineskin fell and splashed its contents on the trampled grass.

“If you wish to remain a Companion, you will not mention that creature to me again.”

“As you say, Majesty,” Moriel whispered.

Korin sheathed his sword and strode away, heedless of the resentful glare that followed him.

Porion noticed, though, and cuffed Moriel sharply on the ear. “Be thankful for the king’s patience,” he warned. “Your master is dead, and I’d have drowned you years ago if it had been up to me.”

Caliel had hoped to meet Korin on the road, but there was no sign of an army or its passing. They rode all the way to the isthmus road with no sign of him, and Caliel learned in the villages they passed that Korin had turned back and gone south to meet Tamír on the western coast.

They rode on for a few miles, and Caliel could see the marks of an army’s passage in the trampled fields, churned roadways, and deep ruts from heavy wagons.

“Why did they go west?” Tanil asked. “There’s nothing there.”

“I don’t know.” He paused, and looked Tanil over. The boy was still a bit vague, but the closer they came to Korin, the happier he seemed.

He’s in no condition to fight. I should take him to Cirna and leave him there somehow, to keep him safe . But the longing in Tanil’s eyes as he looked west was like a mirror of Caliel’s own heart. They were Korin’s men. Their place was at his side, no matter what.

He forced a smile and nudged his horse into a walk. “Come on, then. Let’s catch up with him.”

“He’ll be surprised to see us!” Tanil laughed.

Caliel nodded, wondering again what his reception would be.

The last of the passage through the mountains took four long, tense days. The trail ran along the banks of rushing rivers and up through stony divides that opened into small green valleys where herds of goats and sheep grazed. There were signs of catamounts and bears, and at night lynxes screamed like dying women.

Only in the valleys could Tamír assemble all her force at once, rather than strung out like a broken necklace. Nikides rode back one day and reported that it took two hours for them to pass a given point.

Word of Tamír’s approach preceded her, just as Sheksu had promised. Several times each day Mahti would disappear ahead of them, taking a side trail up to some hidden settlement. Those that were visible from the trail were made up of a few stone huts with roofs of stretched skins. The inhabitants either hid or fled, but there was smoke from abandoned cooking fires and flocks of goats or chickens wandering among the silent huts.

On Mahti’s advice, Tamír left gifts by the trail at each village: coins, food, rope, small knives, and the like. Sometimes they also found baskets of food left for them—greasy smoked goat meat, foul-smelling cheeses, berries and mushrooms, and bits of crude jewelry.

“They hear good of you,” Mahti informed her. “You take gift or give insult.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Nikides said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he and Lorin inspected the contents of a basket.

“Don’t be so squeamish,” Ki laughed, gnawing at a bit of leathery meat. Tamír took some, too. It reminded her of the food Lhel had given them.

Now and then the local witch man or woman came out to see them, but they were wary even of Mahti and watched the intruders from a distance.

The weather closed in as they crossed a high pass and started down for the western coast. Heavy clouds and fog hung low over the narrow divide. Freshets trickled down through the rocks and made the trail into a stream at times, dangerous underfoot with shifting stones. The trees were different here, the quakeleaf still green and the underbrush thicker.